


cauterization

by meowcosm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Injury Recovery, Love Confessions, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24292471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowcosm/pseuds/meowcosm
Summary: In the aftermath of their final battle, Dedue helps Mercedes tend to Dimitri's wounds.-For Dimidue week 2020, day 4, prompt "mending."
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57





	cauterization

**Author's Note:**

> awwwwwouguhghb i love themmmm

_ It was all supposed to be fine _ . 

Standing firm outside Dimitri’s door, barred from the rest of the world and from him, Dedue can’t help but think himself a fool. A fool for thinking things would be- could be- whatever might pass for normal in this strange world so soon after the war. That there would be no knots in the string, and the brighter future he had envisioned so often would come to pass with immediacy. With everything that’s happened, every unpleasant bend in the road- Dedue positively winces. He’s hardly been an optimist before, and now seems the worst time to join their ranks.

_ But _ , he thinks, heart sinking in his chest,  _ there was the good. Enough decency, despite the odds, in this strange world, to trick me into believing we would march to victory unburdened.  _

_ Perhaps the joy of seeing Dimitri alive once more blinded me _ . 

Palms flat against the old oak of the door, save for where his left thumb wraps around a crystal-glass vial of fluid, Dedue exhales, shaking as he does. He knows, then and there that Dimitri is behind the door- in great pain, perhaps, or on the verge of death. Even with the medicine prescribed by Mercedes clutched in his hand, he can barely bring himself to knock, let alone enter the room without prior greeting. 

If he has to see Dimitri suffer- simply imagining it makes Dedue’s heart lurch. And yet, the chilled exterior of the medicinal salve pressed between Dedue and the door is what Dimitri needs, more than anything. More than Dedue’s pity, or his hesitance, or his fear. Fingers pressed to the tip, it’s hard, Dedue thinks, to not want to run. Either forwards, to lavish Dimitri with care, or backwards, surrendering the role he’d personally offered to take to Mercedes. 

_ If only _ , he laments,  _ I knew in which direction my legs wished to turn _ . 

Without thinking, Dedue leans forward, pressing his head against the door. It swings inwards, albeit only slightly, at the pressure. In his frustration, he barely notices how the light from the hallway seeps into Dimitri’s room, itself cast into darkness by the closure of the curtains, or how the creak of the aging construction echoes into the nearly-empty chamber. 

The air fills with the noise of shuffling sheets, and before Dedue can enact his silent protest of withdrawal from the scene, a familiar voice rings out just loud enough to catch his attention.

“Mercedes?” It’s not Dedue’s name, but hearing anything in Dimitri’s voice is more than sufficient to catch Dedue’s attention. At the mention of their ally, his head sweeps from its position of frustrated rest to one of attention, facing in the direction of the sudden outcry. 

“Dimitri?” Dedue supposes that he should really have clarified his identity before crying out for his liege. Even though he doubts he could be mistaken for anyone, or that anyone could be mistaken for him. 

Dimitri’s voice is a hoarse half-croak; still, it’s obvious to Dedue how deeply Dimitri is comforted by his mere presence. From astringent to sweet in a simple second- it’s enough to make Dedue’s heart ache with guilt, knowing that he had fully considered passing up a visit out of his own fear. 

Still, now that Dedue can catch a glimpse of Dimitri, exhausted but surviving, all of that hesitation disappears, struck as he is with the immediate urge to come to Dimitri’s bedside. Neither does he have to ask for permission, for as soon as Dedue shows his face from behind the door, Dimitri lights up in much the same way, tapping the empty space next to him with a vigor that makes him hiss. Dedue, too, recoils in second-hand pain, only accentuated by the knowledge of how poorly Dimitri has treated his previous injuries. 

_That_ , Dedue reminds himself, _is why you’re bringing him this salve._ _And why you should hurry to visit him_. 

Hurried, Dedue enters the room, swinging the door shut behind him. It’s cooler inside than outside, with the window opened fully while Dimitri lounges beneath his sheets. It’s strange for Dedue, to see Dimitri sleep in such a wide and regal bed- at the Academy, he’d had a student’s room just like him, and before that in the castle his bed had been much more austere than was befitting of his status. Dimitri had explained to him that the straw mattress and the understuffed pillow were intended to harden his spirit against overindulgence- silently, Dedue wonders if his presence in the king’s bed is as unusual to Dimitri as it is to him. 

Still, regardless of the bed he sleeps in, he’s always Dimitri. Dedue gives silent thanks to the goddess of health as he glances over Dimitri’s body, checking for visible pain or active bleeding, and finding none. 

Nothing, except Dimitri’s eyes looking up at him with a grateful welcome. 

“Dedue.” Dimitri murmurs, hoarse. “It’s a pleasure to see you.” 

“The same to you, Dimitri.” The King’s name is a strange taste on his tongue, but Dedue isn’t sure he minds that. “I apologize for my intrusion.”

Dimitri flashes a tranquil smile at Dedue. “Nonsense.” He reaches a hand out, and runs his thumb under Dedue’s chin, where Dedue is sure he must feel the shallow emergence of stubble. Dedue’s facial hair has always come in slowly, giving him a fortunate relief from the drudgery of shaving, but neither can he go without it for too long. 

“You are always a welcome guest, Dedue.” Dimitri continues. He shuffles to sit up, awkward and laboured without the use of his injured arm, but he manages eventually, allowing him to make better eye contact with Dedue. 

“I am glad to hear that.” Without waiting for any further prompting, Dedue sets down the clear vial of fluid on Dimitri’s birch-wood side table. He unscrews the vial, and is halfway towards coating his hands with the rich fluid before Dimitri splutters out loud. 

“I- Dedue?”

Only then does it occur to Dedue that he hasn’t explained the intention behind his visit. Nor the composition of the strange, viscous substance he’s intending to coat his hands with. Quickly, he slams the vial back down onto the table, leaving only a single drop to slip from the rim. 

“...My apologies, Dimitri. I did not explain to you the purpose of my visit, did I?”

Dimitri shakes his head. “I don’t suppose you did. At the same time, I hope you do not believe that you require an excuse to keep me company.” 

“Of course not, Dimitri. But I suppose I owe you an explanation for why I am here, about to spool an unknown fluid into the palm of my hand.”

Dimitri lets out a shallow, amused snort. “I would appreciate one.” Still, a more serious expression spreads over his face. “Though you should know that I trust you, Dedue. With anything.” 

Embarrassingly, Dedue can feel a slight blush spread across his cheeks. Still, he remains composed, and resists the urge to bring an arm up to block anywhere that Dimitri might perceive his flush. 

“Very well. This is a medicinal salve, prescribed by Mercedes.” At the mention of the salve, Dimitri’s eyes light up with clarity, and Dedue feels comforted at the knowledge that the treatment has been pre-established. “It should assist with the healing of your wound, and provide a mild anaesthetic effect.” 

“Good.” Dimitri says, almost rushing to remove his uninjured arm from the sleeve of his light sleep-shirt. In his dedication to stripping himself, he hardly notices the sudden panic printed on Dedue’s face. “I hate to sound impatient,” he mutters, “but I’ll let you know that I’ve been awaiting this eagerly.”

“I-” Dedue begins to mumble, unnerved. “You’re removing your shirt-” 

“Is that a problem?” Dimitri interjects, worried. “I’ll try my best to only strip the injured side, if it’s more comfortable.” 

It hits Dedue like a bolt that Dimitri isn’t taking his shirt off for any other reason than to give access to Dedue and his salve- and that there’s no reason for his heart to be beating so fast all of a sudden. 

“No. It’s not a problem.” Suddenly, he feels barely able to contain his awkwardness. “I overreacted. We have seen each other divested of our shirts many a time, after all.”

One instance stands out in particular- the first time Dedue had referred to Dimitri by his name after his return to the monastery. That, then, was another time Dedue had intended to help with the healing of Dimitri’s wounds, the ones he had sighted from the back. It had been unnecessary- there was no pain incurred by their presence, not any more. And Dedue was quite sure that he had not, then, felt as he did now around Dimitri’s shirtless form. 

If Dimitri, too, is thinking of that time, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he continues to slip his arm from the sleeve of his shirt, eventually bringing it over to tug the fabric from the injured limb. It’s clumsy, and from the sight of Dimitri’s gritted teeth, Dedue is quite sure that it’s an equally painful affair. One that he can only stand Dimitri embarking on for so long before he brings his own palm to Dimitri’s wrist, and guides his hand away from where it grips, futile, at the white cloth.

“You’re straining yourself.” At Dedue’s touch, Dimitri goes slack and allows him to pull his arm away. “It is unnecessary.”

Still, Dimitri looks up at him quizzically. “The wound is concentrated on that area of my chest. I do not believe you will be able to apply the salve effectively without this area becoming exposed.”

As if the affliction could pass from one of them to the other, Dedue grits his own teeth. “I…” he begins “will divest you of your shirt myself.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Unhesitatingly, Dedue nods. “If it is necessary. And if you are happy for me to do so.”

Dimitri nods also, affirmative. With his permission granted, Dedue proceeds with the task at hand- eyes closed, though, relying on the simplicity of touch to locate the places where he needs to adjust and pull the garment. All the while, repeating in his mind- 

_ This is for the best. He will injure himself further if he continues to be stubborn like this, particularly when the power of his crest is considered. There is nothing suggestive about this, and you will not think insistently to the contrary _ . 

The task isn’t a particularly difficult one, but Dedue can feel his heart getting nothing but faster and faster, with such a furious tempo that it makes removing the shirt feel even more labourious. Eventually, though, he manages it, intuiting his completion through the drift of fabric away from the chiseled muscle of Dimitri’s body. 

“Thank you, Dedue.” Gently, Dimitri shakes, loosening what continues to cling to his body. “I doubt that I could complete such a task with your gentleness.”

Any other time, Dedue is sure that he’d accept the compliment without much thought. But for Dimitri to regard him so highly, right now- it’s sweet, and not much like anything Dedue has felt before. 

“It is of no burden.” Dedue’s eyes flicker back open, and he catches sight of the wound which graces Dimitri’s skin. It’s almost terrifyingly even, a thin slash across the pallor of Dimitri’s flesh, reminding Dedue enough of scored meat that he can feel himself lose his appetite as he observes. He shudders, feeling a jolt run through him at the sight. 

“It is not pleasant to look at. If it is any consolation, it is no more pleasant to experience.” Despite the apology, and the pensiveness in Dimitri’s eyes, his tone is simmering with humour. It’s only when Dedue’s grimace perseveres that Dimitri shuts his mouth and ceases his words. 

“I do not think that I could ever find solace in your pain, regardless of the situation.” 

It’s so formal- so fully, wonderfully Dedue- that Dimitri has to bite back the urge to smile once more, and to come dangerously close to teasing him. 

“Of course,” he says instead. “I do not mean to imply that you would.” 

Dedue nods, a signal that the conversation between them is over for the moment. He takes a second of pause before turning back over to the nightstand, clutching the vial in the cup of his palm once again. This time, he tips the vessel fully, enough that a long, slick trail of clear fluid slips free of its confinement and spreads over Dedue’s palm. In the way that the viscous substance and the air interact, Dimitri is transfixed- and then startled, by the sudden movement of Dedue’s hand towards him. He remains still, however, allowing Dedue to place his dripping palm flat on the still-healing wound. 

At the application of pressure, he hisses, and Dedue draws back. 

“Is that uncomfortable, Dimitri?” 

Dimitri shakes his head, resigned. “It is not pleasant. But it is necessary, so do as you will.”

There’s a clear hesitancy in Dedue’s eyes at the idea of placing his hand down again- still, he does, fluid dripping from his hand and wrist down onto the redness. It’s well-cleaned, likely from Mercedes’ initial care, and Dedue is silently glad for that. Dimitri’s breath is still held, teeth clenched, but his eyes are still kind, looking up at Dedue with acceptance. 

Even though the task is not a precise one, Dedue finds himself being careful with it- the wound hovers above Dimitri’s nipple, territory which Dedue is greatly hesitant to explore, at least accidentally. If he were to be too insistent, or too unfocused, then he could easily end up giving Dimitri an entirely different sensation. Perhaps nicer than pain, but- and Dedue flushes at the thought- entirely inappropriate. Even contemplating such a thing sets Dedue’s mind on a confusing path, so in the interest of distracting himself, he begins to speak. 

“I’m thankful to have you here, Dimitri.” Surveying the wound, it’s hardly as deep as it could be, but Dedue doesn’t believe for a moment that it couldn’t have been fatal should it have been left unattended. 

_ There must have been a thousand moments _ , he thinks,  _ where Dimitri was wounded in such a fashion _ . Times when he wasn’t able to help, or provide guidance, or simply to hold him and soothe the wound as best as he could- 

_ You are troubling yourself, Dedue _ . He tells himself this, and then returns to the world around him. 

“You should know that I am equally grateful for your presence. You have been nothing but a devoted companion, regardless of what has transpired. Your compassion here is nothing if but another demonstration of that.”

“You should know,” Dedue retorts, “that Mercedes was the one to ask me here. She wished to have more time for the war effort, and knew that I would be capable of providing your treatment. I do not intend to take undeserved credit.”

“You could have refused,” Dimitri huffs, “but you did not. You saw the opportunity to give the needy some relief, and to tend to me, and you took it. Even if you were requested to do as such, I do not believe you to be anything short of wonderful.” 

“Very well.” Dedue skirts his fingers further up the wound, pressing the salve into the furthest corner. He can feel Dimitri’s body tense up beneath him, but neither of them relent. 

“Thank you, Dedue. For taking care of me.” Despite the pain, he exhales deeply, contemplating something as Dedue retrieves a roll of bandaging from the pocket of his trousers. As Dedue brings it to his shoulder blades, and wraps the material around him, Dimitri takes the chance to gaze at Dedue’s eyes, fixated on the current work as they are. 

“I would like to see a future in which I am able to give you the care you have provided me.” Dimitri sighs. “Not that I would wish to see you injured, of course.” 

Dedue remains silent, but his hands become slower, and his expression becomes an implicit question:  _ Are you sure?  _

“In fact, I look forward to such a future.” Dimitri’s words are an unstated challenge to Dedue’s expression of uncertainty- they make him blush, what with their unambiguous commitment. “A time when you will only have to name what you desire, and I shall produce it for you.” 

With Dimitri’s bare chest fully covered in the mixture of bandaging and salve, Dedue draws back. Much of the substance still clings to his hand, and he wipes it against the fabric of his clothing. He draws his eyes away from Dimitri, too, negating the cling of his vision to Dimitri’s half-naked form. 

“Is there anything you’d request, Dedue?” Though it’s a statement that verges on teasing, Dimitri’s voice is unmistakably sincere. It’s almost too much for Dedue, leaving him in a strange place of having his vision drawn in two directions at once. 

He remains silent, and Dimitri takes it as a challenge. 

“It was your birthday yesterday, come to think of it.” 

“Now is not a good time for such celebrations. I will make sure to acknowledge it at a later date.” Dedue’s usual asceticism shines through, and it only makes Dimitri want to lavish more attention on him. 

“I understand. I don’t wish to pester you on the matter, Dedue. But I wish for there to be some way of demonstrating my commitment to you.” 

“All I want,” Dedue begins, “is a world in which we share our futures.” 

  
“Ah.” Dimitri sucks in a deep breath, feeling a shudder work its way through his body. Gently, he raises his wounded arm to Dedue’s hip, turning his head and catching his attention. Unflinching at the touch, Dimitri traces his fingers over Dedue’s form, ghostlike. 

“It is no burden, nor misery, to give you such a thing.” Dimitri’s voice is low, but silken, in stark contrast to the rugged rasp of earlier. “I would have done so had you not asked.”

Chasing some implaceable instinct, Dedue leans in. Leans to the point that he’s hovering over Dimitri, faces almost pressed together. As if on cue, Dimitri’s injured arm skirts further up Dedue’s side, eventually reaching the formidable edge of his shoulder blade. Dedue wonders how it doesn’t hurt- then, he realizes his hands are numb, too, from the salve

Everything, then, is still, until the moment where Dimitri raises his head to kiss Dedue. It’s soft, full of a beginner’s tentativity, but at the same time unrelenting. Indeed, only after holding the kiss for what Dedue thinks must be almost twenty seconds does Dimitri draw back himself. Leaving Dedue, standing where he is, stunned. 

“...I did not intend my statement in such a manner.”

A mixture of fear and disappointment floods Dimitri’s eyes, and Dedue swears that he must be looking at the king in more grief than he’s ever seen before. 

“I apologize- I did not intend-”

Before Dimitri can utter another word, Dedue dips down for another kiss. It’s gentle, like Dimitri’s kiss, and equally firm, punctuated by Dedue’s hands finding place on the lower regions of Dimitri’s outer thighs. Though he can barely feel the texture of the fabric underneath, nor Dimitri’s bodily warmth, it’s comforting for Dedue to find himself so deeply anchored and held. When he draws back, Dimitri is staring at him, wide-eyed. 

“I did not intend it in that fashion,” Dedue clarifies, “because I do not wish to burden you. But you must know that I- I want to.” 

“Truly?” Dimitri’s eyes are soft, close to the point of tears, and the colour of a shining afternoon sky. It’s enough for Dedue to curse the gods, as sure as he is that they have conspired to put someone so hard to resist in front of him. 

“Without a doubt.” 

At Dedue’s prompting, Dimitri attempts to push himself up for better access to Dedue’s frame, only to wail at the pressure placed so sudden on his injured arm. In the frustrated hiss, Dedue finds, still, a greater deal of contentment than he’s heard Dimitri express in a long time. 

  
“When I am recovered, Dedue, you must know that I will not be able to keep my hands off you.”    
  
“I am amenable to that. But only when you are healed, Dimitri.” 

As if on cue, Dimitri goes slack once more in his bed, tapping the empty space beside his uninjured arm. 

“Wait it out with me, Dedue.”

A light grin flickers over Dedue’s face. “I believe I have commitments elsewhere.”

“You’re relieved of them. Orders of the king.” A wider, satisfied smile crosses Dimitri’s face this time. “We are on bed rest together, you and I.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading!!
> 
> i post a lot of dimidue over at @meowcosm
> 
> feel free to leave a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed!


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